


Best Possible Outcome

by Heather_Night



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Flash Flood, Future Fic, Hostile Climate, Hurt Derek, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Scott is a Good Friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 12:07:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8445235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heather_Night/pseuds/Heather_Night
Summary: Scott looked around the campsite, satisfied.  Everyone under the age of thirty in the pack was present.Jordan and Lydia.  Liam and Hayden.  Mason and Corey.  Malia, Stiles and Derek.Scott had great expectations for this weekend.  It was time he put his little plan into motion.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to make this canon compliant, if canon features Derek returning to Beacon Hills after the Dread Doctors and The Beast. I've had one reader comment this work is OOC and I guess my only defense is that I've placed the story in the future and I'm projecting how I think the characters will mature.

Scott looked around the campsite, satisfied. Everyone under the age of thirty in the pack was present.

Jordan and Lydia. Liam and Hayden. Mason and Corey. Malia, Stiles and Derek.

Scott had great expectations for this weekend. 

It was time he put his little plan into motion.

-0-

Derek stretched his arms overhead, enjoying the sensation of joints realigning.

“Hey, Derek, there’s one more tent left to put up. Could you help Liam and Hayden?” Scott asked as he walked past, squeezing Derek’s shoulder.

It had been a surprise when True Alpha Scott McCall had invited Derek to participate in his bonding-through-camping exercise. Derek hadn’t been around for the whole one-two punch of the Dread Doctors and Beast of Gevaudan so he hadn’t expected to join the pack relaxing via s’mores, pigs in the blanket and walking tacos. Scott had insisted it would be a great way for Derek to get to know the pack.

Lydia and Jordan Parrish—make that Deputy Jordan Parrish—had easily pitched their tent and were now inside of it. It was suspiciously quiet in there and Derek made it a point to steer clear of that tent. He didn’t want to accidentally experience something he couldn’t un-hear or un-smell.

Derek had just finished erecting Mason and Corey’s tent and the couple were now entwined around each other and hadn’t come up for air. Another tent to avoid.

Liam and Hayden were bickering over how to stabilize the tent pole and Derek was about to beat them with it. These two could try the patience of a saint and Derek was the farthest thing from a saint. 

“Come on, guys, let’s go for a swim!” Scott called out as he raced by in his swim trunks, slapping Malia’s bikini clad ass. Malia punched Scott in the arm and although the True Alpha tried not to show it, Derek could tell his biceps weas aching from the blow. His cousin packed quite a punch.

Lydia, Jordan, Mason and Corey all piled out of their tents, following Scott, the camping Pied Piper.

“Hey, Stiles, could you get the fire going?” Scott called over his shoulder as the group headed for ‘the pond.’ The pond was actually a reservoir fed by a slight waterway actually too small to be credited as a river. It did hold enough water to paddle around in and have fun though, at least according to Scott.

As the noise from the group faded, Stiles sauntered out of the tent he was sharing with Derek. “Still feel like Scott was being nice by including you? I’m pretty sure he just wanted another campsite bitch,” Stiles grumbled but he didn’t sound bitter and his scent was pleasant enough. “Why do I suddenly feel like I’m auditioning for Cinderella?”

“Wouldn’t that be Cinderfella?” Derek snorted.

Stiles looked askance and Derek was afraid he’d pushed too far but the younger man’s face broke into a slow, lopsided smile. “Nice one.”

Derek smiled back. He and Stiles hadn’t always gotten along but since Derek had come back, he couldn’t help but notice how Stiles had settled and matured. The younger man was also more attractive to Derek.

Shaking that thought right out of his head, Derek elbowed Stiles like he would a sibling. A human sibling. “Come on, help me wrestle this beast up and then we can join them,” Derek encouraged as he grabbed the center pole. 

He didn’t have a pressing need to join the noisy teens but he did enjoy the company of Scott and so far, Lydia and Jordan. He didn’t know his cousin well at all but Derek hoped this trip would remedy that.

“Nah, you go ahead. I’ll tend to the campsite,” Stiles offered as he poked at the fire.

Clouds drifted overhead, obscuring the sun.

“That’s weird. I checked the forecast before we left and it was supposed to be sunny and cloudless,” Stiles announced.

The sun peaked out for a moment and then disappeared from view again.

The campsite seemed unnaturally still and that, coupled with Stiles’s unease, mad Derek wary.

A bright explosion of light followed by a loud clap of thunder pushed both men into action.

“Does this feel like a normal storm to you?” Stiles asked as he hurriedly put out the fire.

Ozone wafted on the breeze; it wasn’t the scent produced by the lightning either.

_Magic._

“Shit, it’s magic, isn’t it?” Stiles gave voice to Derek’s thoughts.

It was pretty incredible to Derek that the 100% human in the pack was so attuned to the supernatural world. The younger man, who continually threw himself into danger along with his shifter and other supernatural friends, was pretty amazing. It had taken Derek getting some perspective on the events in Beacon Hills to come to that realization.

Derek would have to return to his musings at a later date; Stiles had grabbed his hand and was yanking him in the direction the pack had disappeared a short while ago. 

“We’d better warn Scott about the weather issue,” Stiles rasped as he sprinted down the path. Even thought he could’ve jetted ahead, Derek kept pace easily; he was convinced something supernatural was afoot but he wasn’t certain there was urgency.

The heavens opened and cold rain drenched them. The wind kicked up and the rain upped its intensity, coming down in torrents. Before long the rain was coming down in sheets, blown by the wind, reducing visibility to inches.

“The pond should be just up ahead,” Stiles yelled over his shoulder right before he skidded to a stop and Derek almost plowed into his back.

“What is it?” Derek shouted into Stiles’s ear. 

“Where’d the pond go?,” Stiles pointed toward a body of fast moving water mere feet away from their feet and rising quickly.

“Look out!” Derek cradled Stiles to his chest as the ground gave way beneath their feet. 

They were submersed in churning water before Derek could properly draw breath. Derek forgot about breathing as he struggled to keep Stiles’s more fragile body from crashing into the detritus being thrown about by the rapid-like water along with them.

Something crashed into the back of Derek’s head and the whitewater agitating them was the last thing he saw before everything turned black.

-0-

One moment Derek was clinging to Stiles like an octopus and the next he was dead weight, pulling Stiles down below the surface of the seething water.

Stiles was a strong swimmer but this was a flash flood and if Stiles remembered his Google-fu right, as little as 2 feet of water was enough to carry away most SUV-sized vehicles. Derek might feel like he was SUV-sized but he was in fact 180 pounds, tops. 

Setting aside his Google-fu and thoughts on weight, Stiles concentrated on hanging on to Derek and keeping their faces above water, at least occasionally. He sputtered and his lungs heaved as they were sucked into what Stiles imagined the spin cycle on the wash machine felt like. 

His hip bounced off of something jagged and Stiles had a fleeting thought of _owe_ but he ignored it as Derek began to slip from his grip. Stiles channeled every bit of strength he had into sucking in oxygen and waiting for an opportunity to get them both out of the water and somewhere preferably safer.

With a mighty bounce his stomach experienced that sinking feeling, like the free fall on a rollercoaster, but Stiles was ready; he heaved to the side, flopping like a landed fish, dragging the inert body in his arms with him.

This was not how Stiles had planned to spend this camping trip.

Up until now, things had moved along apace with Stiles’s expectations—everyone did a half-assed job of putting up their tent, excluding Lydia, and then skipped off to play in the water, leaving Stiles to tend the campsite. In the past Stiles would’ve felt slighted and underappreciated but this time it felt good to catch his breath without everyone loitering around him. The end of his high school years was just ahead and the unknown loomed ominously for him. More and more Stiles found himself catching his breath and reflecting on his friends and life.

This time Derek had surprised him by staying back with him and for a moment Stiles had thought they were making a real connection. Sure, Stiles thought Derek was the most gorgeous creature he’d ever laid eyes on (excluding Lydia, of course) but Derek was more than just a hunk. He was actually caring and thoughtful and could be good company when he wasn’t trying to intimidate Stiles. 

To be fair, Derek hadn’t tried that tactic on Stiles in years. 

A wave of water caught Stiles in the face and he choked, coughing, trying to keep from aspirating.

Stiles crawled, sodden clothing weighing him down, until he was in position to lever his hands under Derek’s armpits and tug him up the embankment. 

Heave!

Ho!

Something inside threatened to give way and Stiles feared he had a hernia. He was no stranger to hard work but this, pulling an unconscious werewolf out of the water, was shaping up to be more than Stiles could manage.

_Crack-Boom!_

An ominous bolt of lightning lit up the sky followed by a startlingly loud clap of thunder highlighting just how dire their circumstances were at the moment. If the rain didn’t send more water down the pathway then lightning might electrocute them.

Werewolves could jumpstart healing through another injury, a fact Stiles had used previously when trying to rouse an unconscious Derek back in the elevator at Beacon Hills Memorial during the whole Darach episode.

Straddling Derek’s middle, Stiles pulled back his right hand and slapped Derek’s left cheek with everything he had. Unfortunately that was pitiful little after the water had assaulted him.

“Derek, come on, wake up!” Stiles screamed in the lax face lying before him.

No response.

Ugh.

Stiles really wanted to get to know this Derek, the one who cracked jokes and didn’t threaten to hit him and looked like he was having fun even when he was putting tents together.

He jumped as another one-two punch of lightning and thunder first lit up the area and then rattled his bones with deafening noise. 

Refusing to give up, Stiles slapped Derek’s face again as savagely as possible. He pretended he was smacking Peter’s smirking face.

It was to no avail.

Slumping forward, Stiles wasted precious seconds, resting. His hands curled loosely around Derek’s muscled biceps and his head leaned against Derek’s shoulder, trying to come up with a way to get Derek to safety.

Climbing from his perch, Stiles scooted back toward Derek’s head, gripped under his armpits, heaving the dead weight backward.

It was a battle of inches, the water slicked dirt turned to mud, sucking at them both as Stiles forced his feet to stumble backward, pulling them both closer to safety.

Stiles tripped over something, landing heavily on his ass. He couldn’t keep the cry of helplessness and pain from emerging from his lips.

If Stiles didn’t get his act together, Derek, werewolf or no, could die.

Through the whistling wind, pounding rain and cracking thunder, Stiles heard a response.

“Stiles?”

“Derek!”

Stiles scrambled for traction, feeling something dig into the heel of his hand as he fought for balance, before he found himself hunched next to Derek.

“Are you okay? Can you stand up?” Stiles demanded, hunching his head against the onslaught of elements.

A hand touched Stiles’s cheek, startling him. “You’re hurt.”

“Forget about me, you almost drowned! We need to get to safety before the water sweeps us away again,” Stiles panted out.

“Come here, let me see,” Derek chided, pulling on Stiles’s arm until he flopped forward again, coming to rest on Derek’s chest.

Derek was giving off some nice body heat and that little bit of warmth felt delicious to Stiles.

“Stiles, look at me,” Derek requested, his voice husky. It was probably all of the water he’d swallowed causing that throaty sound but it was doing strange things to Stiles.

It was both relaxing him and perking him up; at least certain parts of his body.

Stiles found himself staring deeply into equal parts hazel-green and red-bloodshot eyes.

“Look out!” Derek’s face changed into the brow less beta shift and Stiles knew fear. He just didn’t know from what quarter he should direct his defenses.

The world tilted on its axis and Stiles found himself on his back, squishy mud behind him, wet werewolf draped over him.

Force, like a sledgehammer, jolted through Stiles’s body.

His chest fought to expand and draw breath.

The miserable conditions blinked out of existence for Stiles as he succumbed to darkness.

-0-

Derek heard roots pulling out of the ground but it took a moment to identify the noise. He’d just woken up to find a bedraggled but still comely Stiles with worry apparent on his expressive face staring at him with soulful Bambi brown eyes, so he thought he could be forgiven his lapse.

Throwing his body up and to the side, Derek rolled atop Stiles so the younger man was on his back, protected by Derek’s sturdier frame lying across his body.

The tree, maybe an oak, pulled free of its dirt mooring and slammed into his back. 

The pain was unimaginable and Derek prayed he’d pass out.

His prayers must’ve been answered because one moment, he knew peace and his eyes were closed and the next they sprang open, panicked.

His body, pinned by the tree, was crushing Stiles.

Derek couldn’t hear breath sounds and he couldn’t feel movement beneath him. In his experience Stiles never stopped moving. This was bad.

Flexing every muscle in his body, Derek reared back and let the trunk slide off of his back, directing it to the side of them. His skin gave way where his shirt had rucked up, sloughing off as the bark scraped him, but Derek’s complete attention was on the still man sprawled on the ground.

Stiles’s head was tilted to the side, his lips parted, looking like he was taking an afternoon nap. Except naps generally didn’t happen when the rain beat like sharp little needles into someone. Stiles’s skin had a worrying grayish cast to it except where his lips were tinged blue. 

Where was the bright-eyed young man who raised a bat against alphas to protect those he cared about, or held a paralyzed Derek up in a swimming pool, or despite his dislike of blood was willing to cut Derek’s arm off if that was the only way to save his life? Stiles couldn’t protect himself right now so it was up to Derek to see to him.

Before Derek could start rescue breathing, Stiles chest expanded, air gusting into his lungs. Derek waited a moment to make sure the one breath wasn’t a fluke and he was rewarded when the younger man’s chest moved up and down.

Getting Stiles out of the elements was now the most important thing so despite possible internal bleeding, or spinal injuries, Derek threaded one arm behind Stiles’s back and the other under his knees and lifted him, cradling him to his chest.

Derek’s body protested the movement but he pushed past it, intent on getting Stiles away from the flood zone and finding him help. 

Staggering through the slick mud, Derek made his way to a copse of trees. He was leery of the saturated ground letting loose more roots, causing the trees to fall like dominoes, but the trees also offered some measure of protection and at the moment Derek’s body was broadcasting loud and clear he needed to get off of his feet.

A banshee shriek had Derek wishing his hands weren’t occupied so he could slap them over his ears and help deaden the sound but he had to settle for planting his feet and shaking his head, trying to tame the ringing in his ears.

Lydia had used her banshee powers. Derek looked down at the limp body in his arms and hoped the wail was for someone else.

At least Lydia was still alive. That boded well for the rest of the pack, too.

Derek’s strength finally gave out as he reached a Blue Oak that still had some leaves to offer protection and a large enough trunk to lean comfortably against. He crashed to his knees and still holding Stiles to his chest, made his way until he could lean against the trunk, wincing as his scraped back made contact with its rough exterior.

Gathering Stiles against his chest, wrapping his arms around the other man’s torso, Derek offered him as much warmth and protection as possible.

Stiles’s head nestled below Derek’s chin and Derek let his head droop until he could nuzzle the soaked, soft strands of hair.

Either Derek’s senses were fading on him or the rain was ending.

Derek tilted his head to the side, shifting, and gave a mournful howl.

Hopefully Lydia wasn’t the only pack member still alive and help would arrive soon.

-0-

Scott’s heart sank as he skidded to a stop in front of the massive oak tree.

Stiles was draped over Derek’s lap, Derek’s arms protectively holding him, his body hunched forward over the human.

Scott had wanted his best friend and mentor to get closer but this wasn’t what he’d had in mind when he’d maneuvered things so the two were back at the campsite by themselves.

At least Scott could hear two sets of heartbeats, which helped ease some of his concern.

Dropping to his knees, Scott put a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “Derek, hey, can you hear me?”

The older werewolf should’ve heard him coming or at least woken up before Scott touched him.

Bleary eyes peaked from beneath heavy lids. “Scott?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Are you ready to get out of here?” Scott asked, trying to gauge how with it Derek was mentally.

“What happened? Is everyone okay?” Derek straightened up, his eyes focusing on Scott.

“It was some Romanian creature called a Balaur and Lydia took care of it. Is it okay if I take Stiles back to the campsite? Lydia and Jordan are getting an ambulance for him,” Scott explained gently.

For a while Lydia had thought Stiles was dead but once she’d fended off the weather changing Balaur, she’d been convinced Stiles was alive but in dire need of medical help.

Scott held his arms out and Derek tensed, pulling Stiles closer into the protection of his body. Waiting the other werewolf out, Scott focused on his best friend’s condition. His lungs sounded congested and there was the faint metallic tang of blood in the air but nothing too egregious.

Derek shook himself before nodding his head. “We were crushed by a tree and I don’t think he’s woken up since then,” Derek responded, relaxing his grip on the unconscious man in his arms.

Carefully pulling his best friend into his arms, Scott rose to his feet. “How hurt are you?” he directed the question at Derek.

“I’ll be okay, just need a little time,” Derek rasped, coughing. Stiles wasn’t the only person with congested lungs but Derek’s werewolf healing should knock it out.

“Do you feel up to helping me back to the campsite?” Scott didn’t want Derek wandering around out here alone, especially when he was exhibiting signs of shock.

Derek pushed to his feet, grimacing. “Yeah, let’s hurry. Stiles needs help.”

Scott’s steps were much more assured than Derek’s but by the time they arrived back at the campsite, the other man was steadier on this feet. Derek kept glancing at the limp body in Scott’s arms and Scott even thought the other man had growled a time or two but he’d ignored the sounds as he was pretty sure Derek would be embarrassed at his control slipping. He shouldn’t feel that way, he was among friends, but Scott was beginning to grasp how Derek functioned and the appearance of being in control was of huge importance to him.

Scott felt bile roil up his throat as he got a look at Derek’s back. Huge gouges of skin were missing leaving bloody furrows in their wake. When Derek had said a tree crushed them, this wasn’t what Scott had imagined.

The paramedics were pulling up as they entered the clearing where their tents had once stood. The wind had whipped away all of their belongings but Scott couldn’t really regret that since everyone was alive.

Hopefully everyone would stay that way, too.

“Sir, your friend may have spinal injuries so you really shouldn’t have moved him,” the dark haired woman said, tone full of exasperation and worry.

“Can you gently set him down on the stretcher and we’ll mobilize his spine?” the blond man said. He looked at Scott easily holding a grown man in his arms and swallowed back anything else he might’ve said.

“We moved him because there was flash flooding and he would’ve drowned,” Scott explained. He knew enough not to move someone who might have a spinal injury but breathing trumped paralysis and Scott had no doubt Derek would have left Stiles alone if he’d thought that was in Stiles’s best interest. 

Derek was very good about putting everyone’s interests before his own and the tenderness he’d shown toward an unconscious Stiles told Scott maybe the friendship he’d wanted to see brewing between the two was firmly taking hold. 

Not only would an improved relationship between Derek and Stiles make Scott’s life easier, it would help the pack since both of them were key players, heavily relied upon. There was also the fact that both men were stubborn and lonely and would benefit from having someone else they could look after.

Scott settled Stiles carefully on the backboard. Stiles emitted a wheeze as he was jostled into place and Scott’s earlier concerns about Stiles’s lungs being congested took precedence over thoughts of spinal injuries.

Derek stood across from Scott, his arms crossed over his chest, staring down at Stiles with a heavy frown.

“Are you riding with us, sir?” the blond queried Scott.

Derek tensed, stepping forward but Lydia sidled up to him and whispered in his ear, “You need a change of clothing before you go to the hospital or else they’re going to admit you, too.”

Nodding his acquiescence, Derek faded back, letting Scott follow the paramedics pushing Stiles into the rig. 

“I’ll let you know how he is,” Scott commented to his four young betas; it wasn’t an order but the shifters in the group discretely flashed their eyes at him.

Scott climbed aboard, turning his attention to the senior members of the group—Derek, Lydia, Jordan and Malia. “Meet me at the hospital?” he asked.

They solemnly nodded and then the female paramedic was telling Scott to pull out a jump seat, buckle up and stay out of the way.

Before the rig even pulled out, the woman had an IV started at Stiles’s wrist, had an oxygen mask strapped to his face and was enfolding him in a warming blanket.

The rig pulled out, the blond man at the wheel, while Scott kept his attention focused on Stiles.

His unconscious friend’s lungs were straining, something rubbing inside, but Scott took some solace in the fact he was still breathing. There was heavy venous pooling under his eyes—his mom had once told him that could be caused by allergies or asthma—which was another symptom showing Stiles’s distress.

This really wasn’t how he’d thought the weekend would go.

The ambulance blared its arrival and soon they were pulling into the hospital’s entrance. His mom met them at the ambulance bay and took control of the scene, having Stiles wheeled into a treatment cubicle, barking requests for vital statistics from the paramedics who fielded the questions with ease.

Dr. Geyer, Liam’s stepdad, appeared in the cubicle, his eyebrows rising. “Everyone else okay?” The man had known about the camping weekend and once he’d been assured Scott and Stiles would watch out for Liam, he’d agreed with his wife that Liam could go.

“Yeah, that storm knocked a tree on top of Stiles and he got caught in some flash flooding. Everyone else is okay,” Scott relayed.

The doctor took a deep breath, seeming relieved at the news Liam was okay. “Then let’s see what we can do for Stiles.” Scott knew the doctor was amused by Stiles and for some reason trusted him to look out for Liam. Stiles had done a good job of helping mend the rift between Scott and Liam and apparently Liam had shared his thoughts with the man who had raised and loved him.

Vitals were taken again followed by the stethoscope being placed on bare skin; Stiles would’ve yelped and exclaimed about the need to heat metal instruments before applying them to skin and his silence was never more noticeable than in that moment. 

Dr. Geyer ordered labs and scans. Scott remained outside of the cubicle but he could hear every word spoken inside.

“I think if we can get ahead of this lung infection, Stiles will be okay,” Dr. Geyer said to his mom.

“Okay, good, that’s what I was hoping. I’ll see to these orders,” his mom, always super efficient, said.

“I think I’ll give the sheriff a call and let him know about Stiles’s condition,” Dr. Geyer said.

Scott was chagrined. He’d been so wrapped up in getting Stiles medical help he’d forgotten about Stiles’s dad. Unforgiveable.

Dr. Geyer exited the cubicle, clasping Scott’s shoulder. Another nurse joined his mom and together they wheeled a pale and bruised Stiles down the corridor.

Slumping against the wall, Scott dragged a shaky hand through his hair. Sometimes being the Alpha, worrying about everyone, was exhausting work.

Although being Stiles’s friend had always been exhausting. Scott reflected on the many escapades Stiles had dragged him into growing up and he realized he wouldn’t trade a one of them, even getting turned into a werewolf in the preserve because Stiles wanted to find a dead body.

“Hey, Stiles is going to be okay,” his mom approached him, drawing him into a hug. “Are you okay?”

Scott let himself relax into her strong arms. “Yeah, as long as Stiles is okay, I’ll be okay.”

His mom stood back, palmed his cheek and then pinched it. 

“Ouch!”

“You’re a good boy, Scott McCall. Now why don’t you head up to the ICU waiting room? I’m pretty sure that’s where they’ll settle Stiles once his tests are completed,” she suggested.

Rubbing his cheek, Scott smiled at his mom. “See you later.”

She waved him down the hallway as she returned to the treatment cubicle, straightening things out and cleaning things up. His mom was amazing and he made a mental note to tell her that later.

Scott took the elevator up to the fifth floor and made his way to the waiting room, a place he was a little more familiar with than he wished.

Making a pit stop in the bathroom, Scott tried to wash some of the mud off of his skin. His clothing was ruined and their damp condition made him uncomfortable but until Stiles was out of the woods, Scott planned on staying put.

When he entered the waiting room, someone was there. 

Derek.

He was sitting down, forearms resting on his thighs, dark head bent forward. He looked up at Scott’s approach, a tired grimace on his face. “How is he?”

“He’s getting labs and scans done right now. Dr. Geyer is worried about lung infection but thinks they can treat it,” Scott relayed before sinking into the seat next to Derek.

They sat quietly, the clock ticking seconds loudly in the otherwise silent room.

Sixty-five minutes later, Scott heard a bed being wheeled off of an elevator.

Derek was already on his feet, moving into the hallway. They watched as Stiles was pushed into a room, glass window and door making it easy for the staff to monitor a patient’s condition. After ten minutes of fussing, two nurses Scott knew on sight but couldn’t remember their names at the moment, stepped out. “You can both sit with him. We’ll be in and out to check on him at least every fifteen minutes.”

“Go ahead, buddy,” Scott nudged Derek with his arm and the older man darted into the room without hesitation. He would join Derek after the other man had a chance to assuage his fears about Stiles’s condition.

Scott hovered in the hallway, watching through the glass as Derek lowered himself into a chair next to Stiles, grabbed his hand and spoke softly to him. “Hey.”

To Scott’s surprise, Stiles answered. “So, what do you think of Scott’s invitation to go camping now?”

His friend was breathless but he cackled after he’d spoken, happiness apparent in his tone.

“Not exactly what I thought it would be like but I’m pretty flexible and can roll with the punches,” Derek joked back and for the first time in maybe forever, Scott thought his mentor sounded relaxed.

“What are we doing out here?” Sheriff Stilinski whispered in his ear and Scott jumped.

He turned to the other man, scowling. “Why do you always sneak up on me?”

The other man ran a hand through his graying hair, blue eyes twinkling. “Because I can,” he snickered. “What happened?”

“It was a Balour. Apparently they can influence the weather when their territory is threatened,” Scott explained, shrugging.

Some of the humor fled the sheriff’s face. “How’s he doing? I just talked to Dr. Geyer and he said they’re just keeping Stiles in ICU overnight to monitor him for secondary drowning but if everything goes well, they’ll kick him out of here tomorrow.”

“I haven’t seen him yet but he sounds pretty good,” Scott answered.

“Why haven’t you seen him…oh,” the sheriff said, as looked into the glass-encased room, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “How long has that been going on?”

Scott turned and his eyes boggled: Derek was holding Stiles hand between both of his, chafing it lightly, giggling. 

Stiles was making honest to gosh cow eyes at Derek, fluttering his eyelashes, giggling back.

Apparently Scott’s plan to get Derek and Stiles closer had worked even better than he’d thought.

The elevator dinged and Scott heard Lydia’s high heals tapping against the linoleum, Malia’s combat boots clunking along and the more measured strides of Jordan. He wondered what those three would make of Derek-and-Stiles.

Jordan wouldn’t care, he was so easy going, and Lydia and Malia both loved Stiles but not in a romantic way. Once they got past the suddenness of the relationship, Scott thought they’d be fine.

“Well it’s about time,” Malia snorted.

“You think?” Lydia responded putting her fist out for a bump. Malia obliged her and both girls smiled widely.

“You knew about this?” Scott asked, incredulously. Not because he doubted the two women wouldn’t want what was best for Stiles but because they seemed to have already known about the budding relationship.

“Duh!” They both chimed at the same time, eerily.

Scott glanced at Jordan who just shrugged.

“Well, I’m going in to see this for myself,” Sheriff Stilinski announced. “I’ll want to hear about this weather influencing Balaur after I’ve made sure Stiles is okay.”

“Yes, sir,” Scott said, smiling when Jordan’s, Lydia’s and Malia’s voices echoed his. They really were a unit.

Everyone crowed around the window as the man in uniform entered Stiles’s room. “Anyone want to bet the sheriff takes his gun out of its holster in front of Derek?” Jordan whispered.

Before anyone could take that bet, the sheriff was doing just that.

Derek gulped visibly. 

“Dad, knock it off,” Stiles rasped and began to cough.

Once the coughing jag passed, Stiles’s dad shook Derek’s hand and sat down.

“I guess that’s that,” Malia sighed. She always was on the lookout for violence but didn’t sound particularly disappointed at this gentler outcome. Scott knew Malia held both Stiles and his dad in high regard and she seemed to be warming up to her cousin, too.

“Yeah,” Scott replied. “What do you say we get something to eat and let these three hammer things out. I’m starving.”

“Me, too,” Malia smiled at Scott.

“I told you. You owe me dinner,” Lydia said in a singsong voice, punching her boyfriend in the arm.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jordan responded, good-naturedly, rubbing his arm before he put it around her shoulders.

Scott didn’t know what Lydia was talking about but he’d get it out of her later.

Offering arm to Malia, they left the crowded hallway, making for the elevator.

Scott wasn’t pleased their camping trip had been ruined but it was hard to be upset when everyone had come through the experience alive. That was the best possible outcome in this case.

Tomorrow he’d spend the day trying to take care of his best friend who made a lousy patient. At least it looked like he’d have some help in the form of Derek.

 

Finis

**Author's Note:**

> This is a wrap for my hostile climate prompt for Hurt/Comfort Bingo. I didn't tag Scott/Malia but if Lydia called it right, that's another outcome of this adventure.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
